


Red Awakening

by BryonNightshade



Series: The Legacy of Cain [3]
Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dr. Cain being contrary, Foreshadowing, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryonNightshade/pseuds/BryonNightshade
Summary: For X, the newly-discovered red robot will be many things. A puzzle to be solved. A peer to be challenged. A friend to be embraced. And a harbinger-- the herald of darker times. Because, in the end, X and Zero are as different from each other as sun and moon.
Series: The Legacy of Cain [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628878
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

"Well?"

X blinked green eyes at the sudden question. His face—which seemed simultaneously youthful and mature—bore a slightly pensive look. "Well what?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, do you have one ready for me?"

Oh, that. X nodded slowly, composed himself, and then struck up a cheesy grin. "You know, most people say they just want a computer, but what they really want is a cogitator!"

Dr. Cain had to think about that one. "Ah," he said. "You mean something to do their thinking for them."

The grin evaporated as quickly as it had come. "How was it?" asked X. If his face was any indication, X viewed his attempt at a joke the same light as a man trying to build a concrete glider.

"Better," Dr. Cain admitted, remembering X's first attempts at humor. "This one was clever. Clever's not the same as funny, but they're first cousins."

X's frown deepened. Dr. Cain almost smiled at that. Part of X's problem with humor might have been how seriously he took it, but that was par for the course for X. Were it possible, Dr. Cain was sure X would have furrows in his brow before long, as often as he wore that expression.

But it wasn't possible, for X was a robot, the design of his face was set, and his desire to learn humor was part of what made him so remarkable.

Only part, Dr. Cain noted to himself. That desire was a manifestation of X's unique status. He was the last creation of the late, great Dr. Light, the roboticist _par excellence_ , who, in his dying days, had sought to create a robot that had all the emotions and thoughts and flaws of a human being. As far as Dr. Cain was concerned, the experiment had been a complete success. X's mind was as complex and unknowable as any human's.

But that was only half of the equation, because that mind—that sensitive, vulnerable, extraordinary mind—was married to the chassis of arguably the most powerful combat robot ever designed. His baby blue carapace was actually thick, robust armor. His hands could withdraw his fingers to make way for plasma bolt emitters. His helmet, which provided both protection and augmented senses, hung on a hook nearby; taking it off freed X's mop of unruly black hair. (Dr. Cain found Dr. Light's whimsy a source of constant frustration.)

He was a puzzle, X was. No more or less than the average human, Dr. Cain supposed. It certainly kept things interesting.

"So high marks for cleverness," X said, mostly to himself, "but low on absurdity and spontaneity…"

"Don't try to analyze it like that," Dr. Cain chided. "Humor is highly situational and extremely social. Let me describe it to you with another joke. A journalist goes to a prison while writing a story. While the warden's showing him around they drop by the cafeteria. As they watch, one of the prisoners stands up and shouts, "TWELVE!" The prisoners all laugh. Another stands up and shouts, "EIGHTY-THREE!" More laughter.

"The journalist turns to the warden in confusion and asks, "What's going on?" The warden answers, "There's only one joke book in this prison, so everyone's read it a couple times. At this point, instead of needing to tell a joke, the prisoners can just shout out the numbers, and everyone knows which joke they mean."

""Can I try?" asks the journalist. "Sure," the warden replies. So the journalist bucks up his courage and hollers, "TWENTY-ONE!" And he's greeted by _silence_. He turns to the warden in confusion and asks what happened. The warden replies, "Some people just don't know how to tell a joke.""

A smile stole across X's face. "I see," he said, and Dr. Cain wondered if he did.

"Humor's tricky even for humans," Dr. Cain added. "If you master it you'll be about as socialized as it gets. But enough about that. What have you determined about our guest?"

X's face immediately became serious again. "Do you want certainties or probabilities?"

"Certainties are easy and few. I've looked at his schematics and Sigma's report and drawn my own conclusions. I want to know what you think."

X nodded. "I think he was designed from the core out to be a combat robot, I think he's mentally unstable, and I think he's as sophisticated as I am."

"Interesting," Dr. Cain said. He walked past X. In front of him was a glass window overlooking a well-appointed robotics lab. Much of the equipment there was relatively new, the fruits of a windfall of cash and interest in the subject. Dr. Cain had done more with less, back in the days when he'd toiled thanklessly against the prevailing opinions of his discipline, but that didn't mean he'd turn down such offerings today just out of spite. He was far too practical for that. Besides, with age creeping up on him, anything that made his work go faster was to be welcomed.

On the primary work table was a red humanoid robot. Long blonde hair splayed down behind him. For the moment, his eyes were shut.

Dr. Cain remembered the images he'd seen, recorded in the optics of the red robot's victims. Those eyes had been filled, not long ago, with what was unmistakably bloodlust. Dr. Cain frowned at the thought. Okay, robots didn't have blood, per se. But he was fairly sure oil-lust was not an actual expression, and it didn't capture the essence of his meaning, so bloodlust would have to do.

He tapped his bearded face thoughtfully. "Interesting," he repeated. "Explain yourself."

X didn't speak immediately. Dr. Cain knew him to be marshaling his thoughts, and waited patiently for the process to complete. "He bears strong armor," he began. "And it's clearly armor, not just thick skin—notice the pauldron-like shoulderpads. He has plasma busters in his arms with firepower equivalent to mine. Maybe higher. The ports over his left and right shoulders seem to be made to house energy weapons. He's also relatively light. To carry equipment like that and have those capabilities and _still_ have low weight means very high-quality materials were used. That suggests that cost was no object. There was no question about getting a return on investment. Capabilities alone were what mattered. That's a characteristic of combat robots."

"I could say the same thing about you," Dr. Cain objected.

"Maybe. But I can take my helmet off. Even from my design alone you can tell that I don't _have_ to be a combat robot."

Dr. Cain grunted. He hadn't thought about that. "Continue."

"He also felt disorientation when we brought him to basic functioning earlier. He reached over his shoulder, near where the ports are. He was looking for something that wasn't there. If weapons are supposed to be there, and his base instinct is to reach for his weapons, then it's not just his physical design that's combat-oriented. It's his programming, too."

That was something else from the reports. Two of the red robot's victims were found with cylinders buried in their chests. Apparently the cylinders were a type of beam saber. The red robot had plunged them so far into his victims that he'd fused the sabers to the wounds they'd inflicted. The feeling was that the red robot either didn't know his own strength, or was programmed to seek total annihilation, rather than simple victory. Both were unsettling propositions. "Well reasoned."

X inclined his head at the compliment. "The second point doesn't require much proving. Just look at how he acted when he woke up. He didn't know how to communicate, but he knew how to fight. Hand-eye coordination is much harder than vocal processing, yet came online first. His targeting system clearly worked, but his ability to determine who or what should _be_ a target clearly didn't."

"Unless he was programmed to regard all non-friendly robots as threats," Dr. Cain interjected.

"I suppose that's possible, but it seems pointless. Why build a masterpiece robot, then tell it to kill the first thing it finds? You could do that just as easily with a bomb. But the biggest clue is the way that he lost the fight. He suffered a serious system crash mid-battle. I know that when I've done combat simulations, my combat subroutines have had total system priority. But he was so scatterbrained that other programs were able to intrude. He couldn't handle the multiple inputs, locked up, and surrendered his advantage."

"Good thing, too," Dr. Cain said. "By that time he'd taken down a whole squad of Hunters and pushed Sigma to the brink. Sigma's still undergoing repairs for that—the damage was extensive. And he did it without even using his busters… just his body, and whatever weapons he could improvise from his surroundings."

"That's another clue. There's no damage I can find that would prevent him from using his busters. But he didn't use them. That has to be a software issue. And if he didn't use his busters when he could tell he was in a life-or-death battle, then his combat subroutines weren't interfacing properly with the rest of his system." X appeared to take a breath while he paused. Dr. Cain knew it was an artificial gesture, but nonetheless marveled at how convincing it was. He could appreciate Dr. Light's expertise without being taken in by it.

"I suspect he's the victim of a failed second stage initialization."

Dr. Cain's finger had been tapping away against his face. At X's words, it stilled. "A failed second stage initialization," he repeated. "That has a lot of weighty implications. Foremost of which is that he _has_ a second stage initialization."

"I can't prove it with the information we have, but it fits the facts."

"So this is your suspicion that he's as sophisticated as you."

"Yes. The quality of construction is there. Some of his parts seem antiquated, but their arrangement is impeccable. I've worked on a lot of robots with you, Dr. Cain, and I've never seen anything like this… except when looking at myself."

"And if you have a second stage initialization, then he must?"

X shook his head. "I wouldn't put it like that. But if his body is that well constructed, his mind might be, too. We have to admit it's possible."

Dr. Cain put his hands behind his back and peered in closer to the window, as if that gave him some extra insight into the dilemma of the red robot. "Yes," he agreed. "And that possibility, incidentally, is why I asked your opinion. Sometimes we see things we want to see whether they're there or not. I feel a bit more assured now."

X tore his gaze away from Dr. Cain and looked at the red robot. "So… you think he's got a second stage initialization, too?"

"I do." In fact, Dr. Cain had an all-encompassing hypothesis of the red robot's origins. It was tenuous, he lacked solid data, and parts were pure guesswork—but it explained a lot. And whatever his scientist-mind might say about standards of proof, his gut believed the hypothesis completely. Which was why he could never tell X what it was.

"We've already brought him to stage one successfully," Dr. Cain said. "But waking him up… bringing him to stage two, that is… without knowing how he's programmed, how can we figure out what he'll respond to? What inputs would be seen as valid? And we can't just power him down and bring him back up. If he does have a damaged boot sequence, a hard reset might scramble his brain for good."

"I have an idea," X said. Dr. Cain smiled. X was innovative as no robot before him could have been, and few robots after him were. Dr. Cain liked to think he'd fostered the trait, but it was probably a built-in part of X's personality.

"Tell me, X," he said.

"He's a combat robot. So some form of combat-related stimulation should help his higher consciousness engage."

"You mean start a firefight in the lab and hope he wakes up? That could get expensive in a hurry."

X knew Dr. Cain well enough by now not to be threatened by the man's dry humor. Dr. Cain saw the tiniest bit of exasperation touch the robot's countenance. "No, not anything like that. Remember how I said he was reaching for his beam sabers?"

"There's zero chance Sigma lets him have those."

"Right, and I agree with that, but maybe we can put something there in place of beam sabers. A mock-up of some kind. Enough to make him think about it, and have to respond. It would be a change in his tactical situation, and his combat subroutines would demand he reevaluate his position. That might help us reach him."

"That's good thinking, X," he said, and felt second-hand gratification when X basked in the compliment. "I'll leave it to you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Do the research and build a mock-up. We'll try it as soon as I get back."

"Get… oh. You have to go to the council meeting, don't you?"

"Regretfully. I'm torn. If I go, there's very little chance I can influence the agenda, and it looks like I'm legitimating the process. If I boycott on principle, there's exactly zero chance I can influence the agenda."

"Empty chairs don't get a vote."

Dr. Cain looked at X, caught the robot's hopeful expression, and smiled. "Better still. Yes, I'll go. I trust you'll be ready by the time I get back."

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will. You're a good man, X." He walked past X, knowing the way his face would be screwing up now as he chewed on the expression. It gave him mischievous delight to know how he could get X's mind tied up in knots so casually. And it gave him great satisfaction that X seemed to be finding his way through such matters.

Compared to the humans Dr. Cain was about to go meet, X was a better man by far.

* * *

Amongst the corporations to embrace robots, LLCC was a front-runner. Construction was hazardous business, and making it safe was expensive. The company's executives longed for the days before liability and worker's comp and unions, when buildings shot up like bamboo at a minimum of cost and reasonable losses of human lives. Bringing down the latter just _killed_ the former.

Luckily, no one cared if robots were harmed in construction. There were expenses involved in replacing robots, but at least there weren't lawsuits. And the robots, such as the ubiquitous Met, proved hardy enough. LLCC bought them with abandon, used them to displace humans on the construction sites, and sent the rest of the humans to supervisor roles, robot maintenance, or (mostly) the unemployment office. The profits that resulted swelled the company's coffers and egos alike.

Dr. Cain's replica androids took matters a step further. Now, LLCC realized, they could have intelligent supervision of their robots on the build site, while still avoiding legal liability and the frailties of human flesh. They were amongst the first in line to buy into the new technology.

The company's investment was substantial; the benefits, immediately realized. But there were… quirks. And hiccoughs. Compared to the hopelessly obedient and subservient Mets, reploids were headstrong, independent, and had bad attitudes. (To the typical LLCC foreman, those adjectives were synonymous.) The very qualities that made reploids valuable also made them difficult.

And, every so often, one of them would go insane.

So when Magnus failed to show up to the job site on time, his supervisor feared the worst. He made a few calls, sent a few messages, and was on the verge of alerting the Maverick Hunters when a message came in from Magnus.

_Suffered unexpected damage on my way to the job site. Had to evade a reckless driver and damaged self. Reported to repair shop; expect to be on-site by noon._

It made sense, the supervisor thought. Robots—reploids or not—had to avoid harming humans above all other things. When humans did unsafe things in a robot's presence, oftentimes the robots would end up having to take extreme measures to compensate.

At that point, another reploid came up to the supervisor with a sequencing problem, and the supervisor let the matter drop. And that's where he made his mistake.

He never called the repair shop.

* * *

The room held several CEOs, a couple of researchers, a handful of government officials, and a platoon of aides, assistants, deputies, and hangers-on. Most of the latter stood around the edges of the room, while others dawdled outside, marking time until the Important People finished.

Dr. Cain ignored them all. He was intently focused elsewhere.

Around him, people spoke in grave terms with great urgency. Maverick incidents were ticking up, month-upon-month. Programs were being delayed, property was being damaged, people were getting hurt, and—most importantly—a _lot_ of money was being lost.

Dr. Cain was hearing only enough to be aware of the general direction of the conversation. The specifics… well, they were as important as the colors of the speakers' ties. He tuned it out until it was little more than a buzzing in the background. It allowed him to focus more closely on the lines he was drawing across two pieces of paper.

They were, he knew, recapitulating all the same arguments. More testing versus more cost. The economic advantages of reploids versus their unreliability. Customers accusing the manufacturers of lousy product, manufacturers accusing customers of voiding their warrantees.

And all of them, Dr. Cain knew, mistaking features for bugs.

The sound of his name drew him back. He looked up to see a tableful of impatient faces staring at him. He realized they thought he was wasting time with his drawings, and shortly thereafter realized he didn't care what they thought. "Sorry?" he said disingenuously.

"Dr. Cain," said An Important Person, "you haven't said anything in a long time. You're the foremost expert on reploids—"

"You invented the damn reploids!" another Important Person said.

"—and now we're in a crisis caused by reploids. What do you have to say about this?"

With a sigh, Dr. Cain looked back down at the two pieces of paper he'd drawn on. He began folding them, carefully, with hard, precise presses. "Saying it like that only reveals you don't know what's really going on."

"What's really going on is that reploids are malfunctioning, going berserk, and undoing everything they were built to do!"

"Thank you for confirming what I said earlier," Dr. Cain said coolly. "You and I are talking past each other because we're speaking of different problems. Most of you," he waved vaguely around the table, "are concerned with the damage the Mavericks are inflicting. All well and good. I'm all for protecting humans. I'm sure there are things you can do along those lines, like beefing up the Maverick Hunters. But because you're thinking about reploids wrong, you'll never actually _solve_ the problem."

"Would you care to enlighten us as to how we should be thinking?" The words were caustic, the titters that followed them unkind.

"Sure. You persist in thinking of reploids as robots. That's wrong. The current practice is to buy and sell reploids like chattel. That's wrong. All of you assume that the problem is a problem with reploids. That's wrong."

The silence that followed was deep and hostile. It was almost enough to get Dr. Cain to look up from his papers. Almost. He went over a crease two more times. He needed it sharp.

"Is that a fact?" said A Different Important Person with an audible sneer. "Listen to yourself. You're telling us robots aren't robots. If that's a joke, I'm not laughing."

"There's the flaw in your thinking right there. You may see reploids only as robots, but they see themselves as _people_. Until you come to terms with that, you will never understand Mavericks."

"I thought you were a doctor of robotics, not a doctor of philosophy." More tittering.

"If you brought in even a single Maverick without frying its brain I'd gladly show you what I mean. But there is something I can point out from here. Can we go back a few slides, please? A few more. That one. Gentlemen, you'll notice here that humans are being harmed in these incidents, with ever-increasing frequency. But remember, by the Three Laws, robots aren't supposed to be able to harm a human being.

"Without this data, you can almost believe the malfunction argument. Reploids are incredibly complex, with truly labyrinthine computer cores. A glitch could throw things off-kilter in a hurry. The trouble is, for humans to be harmed, each malfunction would also have to affect the reploid's Three Laws gates. That's a very specific requirement. Too specific.

"So that gives us two possibilities. First, every one of the Maverick reploids is suffering an independent malfunction that shorts its Three Laws gates. That would seem unlikely in the extreme. Second, these reploids have a grievance so powerful that it's more important to them than the Three Laws they were born with. Think about that for a moment."

He looked up, surveyed the faces around the room, and sighed. Oh well. He'd tried. He picked up the two paper airplanes he'd made, one in each hand, and flicked them forwards. One veered off to the right, hitting the wall between a staffer and a sycophant. The other immediately nose-dived onto the table with a smack. Dr. Cain frowned at it. "Huh," he said. "Another failure to launch."

* * *

X worked diligently. He didn't know any other way to work. He could, he supposed, divert more of his brainpower away from the task at hand, but why would he? He was responsible to a fault.

He was done with measurements, and now was working on the fake beam sabers. He'd pulled dimensions from the reports on the red robot, as Sigma wasn't allowing the real deal to be in the same building as their wielder; he'd estimated their electrical characteristics based on the red robot's sockets. It might not be perfect, but if it was close, it might be enough stimulation to bring the red robot around.

X took a moment to look at his subject. X had taken to calling the red robot Z, after the stylized emblem emblazoned on his left shoulder. Z was larger overall than X, with blonde, almost yellow hair that reached down to his abdomen. His facial features were sharp and well-defined. His color scheme was mostly red, but yellow and white played prominent parts. A blue jewel rested at the leading edge of an elaborate, sharply angled helmet. The jewel had been shattered by Sigma during their desperate battle, but Z's obviously functioning (and just as obviously amazing) self-repair system had restored it. It was hard, with eyes alone, to tell certain physical traits with robots, since internal construction and quality was so variable. X had seen Z's capabilities, though. With that in mind, he could see equal parts grace and power in Z's form. It was a terrifying prospect.

Who knew what would happen when Z reached full consciousness?

Because he hadn't, before—not really. That was the working theory X had.

Most robots—at least, most robots before X's discovery—were limited to on/off modes of operation. The boot sequence might take some time, and go through some intermediate steps, but it was purely a transitional state. The robot was either in torpor, with no brain activity, or it was on, aware, and functioning.

Not X. X's marvelously complex brain was built to be almost human-like. He still had "off", with power secured, and fully awake, but he also had an in-between stage. There, power was on and his brain was functioning, but he was not awake, not aware of his surroundings. In other words, he was like an asleep human in that place.

This meant he had two stages of initialization—going from powered down to asleep, and from asleep to awake. He'd floated there for decades after his construction, drifting along in a dreamstate, until Dr. Cain found and woke him fully. These days he never powered all the way down. There was virtually no maintenance that couldn't be done with him asleep, so going the extra step to "off" was just a bother. There was a touch of danger, there, too. The boot-up sequence was so complicated, so delicate, that there was a non-zero risk of something going wrong.

Very small, but non-zero.

That, X suspected, was what had happened to Z. Something had distorted his boot sequence; something had tried to go to stage two early, or some prerequisite hadn't been met, and cascading system failures had thrown the whole mess into disarray.

There was no guaranteeing Z would ever wake up, especially when Z's shutdown had come at the end of Sigma's fist. But X was willing to give it a try.

Because there was something… fascinating, something intriguing about this red robot. Reploids had a two stage initialization, but they were all based off of X's design, so of course they would. But no robot before X had. And now here was Z, with a potentially two stage initialization, and he was definitely _not_ a reploid.

Fascinating and frightening both. Insane or not, Z had killed, had killed with skill and brutality. X was fairly sure that he could beat such a creature if it came down to it, but that was only because his weapons were active and Z's were disabled. And even that might not matter, if Z caught him up close.

But if risk were to be avoided at all costs, Dr. Cain would never have woken X up in the first place. X was willing to pass that favor on and give Z a chance.

The fabricators beeped at him. X picked up the mock-up. It was simple, really, just a cylinder and a few electrical components to complete the circuit. He hoped it would be enough. He couldn't wait to hear Z's story.

He gave Dr. Cain a call.

* * *

Dr. Cain sighed as the seat he was looking at filled. The youngster who'd sat in it shot Dr. Cain a look as if to say, "You got a problem with that, gramps?" Dr. Cain gave him a thin smile, then assumed a wide stance. The youngster's eyebrows twitched in confusion.

When the subway started moving, Dr. Cain spread his arms like a surfer and rode through the acceleration, swaying slightly to absorb the forward thrust. He wanted to laugh for a moment. Balance based on inertia and eyes alone was one of the harder skills to implement in robots, and most designs ended up giving the robots disproportionately large feet and low centers of gravity and calling it a day. Yet he could do it, easily, and have it be fun.

Not much fun. His back ached and his knees complained and his balance wasn't actually that good. But he could dismiss such things to make a point. If he couldn't succor his flaws then he would embrace them.

When the subway reached a steady speed, Dr. Cain stood straight again. Looking directly at the young man, he said, "Fun times." The young man made a rude gesture. Dr. Cain smiled and turned away.

The phone in Dr. Cain's pocket rang. He reached up to grab a ceiling bar before answering—no reason to push his luck. "Hello?"

"Dr. Cain," said X's voice, "the mock-up is ready to go."

"Good, good," Dr. Cain answered. "We'll begin as soon as I get there."

"I understand."

X disconnected, then, and Dr. Cain had to wonder if this was really a good idea.

Because the more he thought about this, the more the dots connected, and made a line, and that line pointed in a hazardous direction.

_A red robot appears out of nowhere. His combat capabilities are tremendous, his construction immaculate. But he's crazy._

_Why is he crazy? Answer: improper boot-up sequence._

_What kind of boot-up sequence? Answer: two stage._

_Who had the wherewithal and knowledge to design a robot that sophisticated? Answer: you can count the suspects on one hand. One is you, and you didn't do it. One is Dr. Light, and he didn't do it. You proved that X was Dr. Light's final project. There was definitely not enough time for Dr. Light, drowning in sorrow and dying from tuberculosis, to make X and something else before he croaked. Besides which, this robot has none of Dr. Light's signature design elements. So, not him. Dr. Cossack? In his dreams._

_That leaves two possibilities. One is a rogue scientist heretofore unknown. Conceivable. Not likely. The other possibility…_

_What if_ he _knew that X was under construction? What if he made his own super robot to match X? And what if the timeframe for X's wakening was known to him?_

_X was supposed to sleep for thirty years and then be woken up. But the plan failed, somehow. Something that was supposed to happen didn't, and no one knew about X's hibernation capsule until I found it a hundred years later._

_So if the red robot was built to counter the blue, and was set to wake up in a similar timeframe… well, was it timeframe or some condition? Ah, that's the problem, contradiction of inputs. Different requirements for the capsule and its cargo. Whatever criteria were supposed to wake X up failed, and the same thing happens to the red… but his boot sequence is programmed differently. X's boot sequence is managed by the capsule, since the capsule was testing X's ethics while he slept. So when the capsule doesn't get the input it needs to wake X up, it doesn't, and keeps him asleep._

_Not so with the red. Red's builder relies too heavily on things going according to plan. The red robot tries to wake up, but his capsule won't let him. His brain tries to come around, and the capsule tries to suppress him. So he hovers in an incomplete state for seventy years, experiencing massive memory leaks that overwrite some of his programming, while his boot sequence is hopelessly confused._

_Even that shouldn't have been enough to drive him that insane… except for the time factor. Over and over the failed boot sequence recapitulates itself. Seventy years! Seventy years of doing the same thing would drive anyone mad regardless of what it was. When his activity was an endless cycle of broken consciousness, it would have been a miracle if he'd come out lucid._

_And then some idiot triggers the capsule to open up. The awake-asleep red robot rises, knowing only fragments of his programming. He falls back on the most deeply programmed, most basic functions, which for him are the combat subroutines, and he engages the robots that find him._

_No, not robots. Reploids. Replica androids. Replicas… of X._

_Targets._

_But the inputs don't make sense. When he kills, he's able to determine that he's not killing X, or if he is there's somehow many Xs. Cognitive dissonance. He doesn't understand, and that steals away some of his combat ability. So he begins to make ever more urgent calls to his analysis subroutines… ah, which are only partially functioning. When he tries to reinitialize them, it causes cascading failures of his already mangled boot sequence, his mind becomes useless, and he's vulnerable to attack for the one moment Sigma needs._

_And Sigma—ego bruised, body savaged—brings the unconscious red robot to me for analysis._

The subway decelerated. Dr. Cain swayed bonelessly while he held the bar above, his contest of wills over the seat forgotten. This wasn't his stop, so he could allow himself to drift in the realm of thought while people pressed and flowed around him like a rock in a stream. It would amuse him, later, to look back and marvel at the import of his thoughts, and how the people around him were blissfully unaware of how his actions might affect their futures. But at the time he was too focused on The Problem to indulge himself so.

_Conclusions._

_One. Red may or may not remember, upon waking, that X is his target._

_Two. If he doesn't remember now, there's no guarantee he won't remember later._

_Three. Whether he remembers or not, fighting is written into the core of his existence._

_Four. Sigma, who admires and desires perfection in all things, is probably jealous of the red robot. He surely resents being roughed up by a madman._

_Five. If we can get the red robot pointed at the Mavericks, we can probably address all of problems one through four in one fell swoop._

_Six. If we **can't** get the red robot pointed at the Mavericks, he might kill us all._

Again the subway picked up speed. Dr. Cain took a break from his reasoning to appreciate the subway. It gave him the opportunity to think in transit without taking too much of his attention, in a way driving never could. Besides, owning a car in the depths of the city was a futile gesture. Abel City traffic made Dr. Cain want to murder someone.

He considered his position for a bit, then added two more conclusions.

_Seven. X has all the personal properties to bring out the best in the red robot, if there's any 'best' to be found in him._

_Eight. If X knows the red robot's provenance or purpose, it will distort their interactions, potentially thwarting their relationship._

He hesitated, knowing what the next step would be, knowing just as much how distasteful it was. But he proceeded, as he knew he must.

_Nine. Because of eight, I must not tell X any of this._

If X figured it out on his own, well, more power to him. But the delay would allow events to run their course.

None of this would matter if they couldn't get the red robot to wake up. That was the first thing to do, then. Thankful for the diversion, Dr. Cain sent his thoughts down the new track. He decidedly did not think about how easily the two robots could be in opposite positions—about how a quirk of fate could have reversed which of them was sane and which was mad.

He pushed such thoughts from his mind.

Several times.

* * *

Zero opened his eyes.

"Zero-- my masterpiece," said a voice. "After him! He is my nemesis. Our rivalry is what gives me motivation in life. Now, go. Destroy him. That's an order!"

Disorientation swept through Zero. He could see the outline of a humanoid figure, but no more, as the figure was backlit by a bright light. Zero didn't know where he was, who the man was, what 'him' he was supposed to destroy, or anything. "But… who are…" he tried to say, but before he could put the thoughts together he felt a stabbing pain in his mind. Clutching his head, crying out in pain, he closed his eyes as he tried to diagnose the problem. But it was too much, he couldn't even begin, none of his processors were reporting anything useful, just agony echoing through his head…

And then he saw images—fragments of them, like stained glass windows colliding with each other. Images of dismembered corpses, of some kind of fluid on his hands, of second-hand terror. He felt death in them, but couldn't tell if he was the instrument or the witness. Seeing them made him feel compulsion. There was something he needed to be doing, if he could only remember it. But trying to remember caused the pain to come a second time. This time there was no stopping it, it was going to grind him into nothingness, it obliterated everything else as his mind collapsed in on itself…

Zero opened his eyes.

"Zero-- my masterpiece," the voice said again. And again, and again. Each time Zero thought he'd woken up, he instead encountered another layer of dream. He could never reach reality; he was trapped in endless nightmare.

Again.

* * *

"How'd it go?" X asked Dr. Cain.

"Oh, you know," Dr. Cain said vaguely. "Same as usual."

"What does that mean?"

"It's easier to believe preconceived notions than to listen to an alternative hypothesis."

X shook his head with a smile. "Dr. Cain, I think you take perverse pleasure in being contrary. At this point, you only believe you're right if you think other people will disagree with you."

Dr. Cain laughed at that. "That's the story of my life, X."

"Did anything come out of the meeting?"

"We agreed that the Maverick Hunters should have the right to terminate Mavericks on sight."

"I thought that was already in place," X said cautiously.

"It was."

"So someone disagreed? Why? If a reploid malfunctions and violates the Three Laws… don't get me wrong, it's awful and a waste, but what more is there to say?"

Plenty, Dr. Cain wanted to say, but his voice caught in his throat. So even X didn't understand. Dr. Cain felt himself deflate. "Well… in any event, whatever the justice of the situation, it's awfully hard to do analysis when the Hunters frag my would-be test subjects. But that's enough of that. Is this subject prepared?"

"As prepared as he's going to be." X had decided not to press, and Dr. Cain was grateful to let it go. The whole meeting had left him feeling embarrassed on behalf of the human race, but gloomy about the future of reploids. That X didn't seem to get it just made things worse.

"Then get in there. We need to take this delicately. We might not get another chance."

"I'll take care of it."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you ready, X?" Dr. Cain asked.

X reviewed the situation. He held the saber stand-in. Z still rested on the lab's main table. X and Dr. Cain had disabled Z's plasma busters as an extra precaution. Below the table, three high-powered lasers pointed upwards. Their skew orientation ensured that at least one of them would hit the subject's "heart" if they had to be fired. That was a last resort, though; the first resort was the thick, transparent-aluminum restraints that bound Z hand and foot. The second resort was X himself.

And the last, _last_ resort was an unannounced extra patrol of Hunters that just happened to be in the neighborhood. X decided he didn't blame Sigma for that; he was just glad they weren't trying to butt in. Dr. Cain's penchant for territoriality was fierce, and could be quite distracting.

Everything seemed in order. X found himself apprehensive all the same. He wanted this to _work_. He turned to where Dr. Cain looked down at him from behind glass. "Ready," he said.

With a wave of his fingers across a data pad, Dr. Cain disconnected Z from the lab's support systems. This, they hoped, would help prompt initialization; it simulated something that would happen earlier on in the boot-up sequence. X thought he could see Z twitch slightly at Dr. Cain's action. X approached on Z's right side, reached up Z's body, and plugged the imitation saber into its socket.

Z's eyelids tightened. His face became one of unconscious concern. Then his eyes crept open. Eyes locked on to eyes... for only a breath. Then Z's body surged as all four limbs and his neck tried to pull up. The violence of it made X want to shift despite himself. The restraints held, though they protested, and Z sagged back down. His eyes flicked about to take in his surroundings. They settled on X a second time.

X felt some pressure from the gaze, but held his ground. This was a crucial moment for the memory-damaged Z, and X would supply any help he could, even if that help was nothing more than his presence.

Confusion became evident on Z's face. He'd strained against his restraints before. Now he seemed to strain against his mind.

X understood, then, with an intuition he alone among all robotkind possessed: Z needed something, some frame of reference, some starting point. "I am X," he said, pointing to himself. "I'm pleased to meet you. You're safe with me."

That seemed to help. Z's face relaxed and, after a moment, his eyes closed. X looked back over to Dr. Cain. The human turned the data tab so that X could see. While they weren't deep enough in Z's brain to track data flows, they were monitoring power outlays, and those had shifted dramatically. He was out of the jam he'd been in before. That was something, at least.

X looked back down at Z. As he worked back along the lines of his intuition, he realized with a start what the real good had been. _You're safe with me._ That was the key. Reaching Z's combat protocols had been the way to wake him up, but only by removing the threat of danger would those protocols relinquish control of Z's mind. Now, with them out of the way, the rest of him could begin to operate.

X waited patiently for Z to stir again. Others might have gotten bored, but he did not. This was the interesting part, in his opinion. He was trying to second-guess what was happening in Z's sequence with no more evidence than what he could see.

Soon enough Z's eyes revealed themselves again. They searched for—and found—X, held the gaze. "X," he said.

X smiled. "That's right," he affirmed. Wonderful! Vocal processing was online, which meant Red was way ahead of his first awakening. And at least some corner of his memory blocks hadn't been fried for him to recall X's name.

Z's eyes looked away, as if to let his mind think about something else, then returned. "I am Zero," he said.

The words, though unexpected, caused X's face to light up. "Zero," he said. "Pleased to meet you." And, because it had worked so well before, he added, "You're safe with me."

"I know," Zero replied. X felt a warm feeling wash through him at that. Zero's mouth opened, then shut without a word coming out. He repeated this several times, putting X in mind of a fish.

He understood what was happening, for he'd been in such a situation himself. Coming awake for the first time was such a shock it was hard to know even where to start. No doubt Zero was casting about, trying to find the right questions that would help him know his place in the world. Humans had it easy. They didn't have to think about questions like that until they'd already been in the world for years, at which point, presumably, they had half the answers already. A sentient robot awakening for the first time had no such cushion.

On second thought, it wasn't Zero's first time waking up, was it? Carefully controlling his voice, X asked, "Do you remember anything?"

X felt, more than he saw, Zero's confusion. Zero's facial expressions were subtle. X's observant eyes watched his fellow android struggle with the question. The longer it took for him to respond, the more X worried. Was he really that confused? Was it that hard for him to remember? Did he not remember anything and it was just taking him a long time to understand what the question meant? Or, a quieter voice asked, did he have memories and want to sanitize them before telling X?

"I… do remember something," Zero said. "A voice telling me I'm a masterpiece."

"Well, you are," X agreed.

"Am I?" asked Zero, apparently disturbed by the idea.

"Yes." X gave Zero a reassuring smile. It didn't seem to affect the red robot. "Whose voice is it?"

"…don't know…"

"Do you remember anything else?"

Zero's visage appeared strained by the effort. X was about to tell him not to worry when Zero said, "Nothing clear."

"That's to be expected." X turned—Dr. Cain had spoken as he came into the room. Zero lifted his head to see the doctor. His expression had sharpened, his eyes intently focused on the newcomer.

"Don't worry, Zero," X said reassuringly. "This is Dr. Cain. He helped make you better. He's a friend."

"…friend?"

There was more to that question, X decided, than a search for confirmation. There had to be an awful lot wrong with Zero's memory if a concept like "friend" failed to register.

"He's here to help you."

Zero considered this. "Human," he said.

"Yes," Dr. Cain agreed, "every bit of me but the fillings in my teeth and the fungus on my toes. But you are not."

"Dr. Cain," X protested. Here he was trying to make Zero feel accepted, and Dr. Cain came out saying something like that? What was he up to?

"No," Zero said. "I am… a robot."

X was able to detect the slightest of flinches from Dr. Cain. He wondered, again, what the doctor was getting at. "Dr. Cain helped wake you up," X said.

Zero considered this. "So I was… asleep? Is that the word? Or is dead the word?"

"Asleep is the word," X said hastily.

"Dead will come later," Dr. Cain added cheerily.

"Dr. Cain!" said X.

"It does for everyone," Dr. Cain said. "Might as well come to terms with it. But you're not dead, and won't be for a while. Probably. No guarantees."

Zero's face grew tighter and tighter as Dr. Cain spoke. "Alright," X said, "that's enough. You can wait outside."

"Sure thing. I have some data to analyze anyway." And at that, to X's dismay, Dr. Cain flashed him a smile and a thumbs-up before leaving.

"He means well," X said to Zero. "He just… says things. He can't help himself."

"Is death like being asleep?" Zero asked.

Why, oh, why was he having this conversation? "I wouldn't know," X said. "I've never died. But don't worry about it. You can die at any time. Right now we're focused on your life."

Zero looked away from X. X was starting to understand him a bit. He seemed to be functioning, but all the new inputs were overwhelming his battered mind. Whenever he looked at a person, he focused so intently it robbed him of some of his self-awareness. He had to look away to think about anything else.

X's analysis subroutine whispered that Zero's targeting system was probably still active. That's why he was over-focusing—developing precision targeting consumed his attention whenever he allowed it.

He looked back at X again. "I can't feel my Zero busters."

Hm. X had expected this to come up, but had hoped it would be later. "They're disabled for now."

"Why?"

X took a short breath—for effect, not because he needed it. He wasn't about to tell Zero a lie; it went against his character and he knew it wouldn't end well if he did. But at the same time, "We were afraid you might kill us" was not the right way to go about this.

"We believe that you had some sort of problem with your boot sequence," X said. "You didn't come up gracefully. There was no way for us to know if you could control yourself or not."

Zero's hands tightened. "I can control myself." X detected wounded pride in his voice.

"I'm glad," X said. "We didn't know enough before to be sure."

"So will you reactivate them?" X detected neediness hidden in the request. It bothered him that Zero felt that way about his weapons.

"Not yet," X said, then before Zero could protest he added, "but we will. We have to do more analysis first."

"Analysis for what?"

And now X was stuck. He could tell Zero everything, but the burden of responsibility might destroy him. He could dance some more, and lose Zero's trust. He decided to have faith in Zero's strength.

"I asked you earlier if you remembered anything from before. That's because you've destroyed a number of robots."

Zero went so still X almost thought he'd powered down. "I don't remember," Zero said.

"We kind of expected that. You see, you weren't thinking straight when you did. We think. We think that your boot sequence was disrupted. You could fight, but didn't know who you should, or why."

"I don't know who or why I should fight now," Zero said, and his voice and face were full of distress.

"You don't have to fight anyone," X said.

"Then what am I?" Zero said wretchedly. His face made X's heart lurch with pity.

"You're Zero, and you're my friend," X said firmly.

That puzzled Zero. "Your… friend?"

"Yes," said X, forcing nonchalance into his words. "Of course you are."

"I don't even know what that means," Zero whimpered.

"It means…" X tried to find a way to explain the term, and realized he didn't really know how. That was because he didn't really know himself. When it came right down to it, the only person he knew that well was Dr. Cain, and he was hesitant to use the word to describe him. They were colleagues, and they shared genuine excitement for their work. But friends? Maybe not.

"Let's find out together," X said.

Eyes flicked away. They returned. "That sounds interesting," said Zero, and his voice was calmer than before. X smiled.

The door sounded again, and Dr. Cain reentered. X shot him a resentful look. It glanced off of the human. "Glad to see you two getting along," he said with an obnoxiously knowing grin.

X controlled his temper. "What's next, Dr. Cain? And when can we release Zero?"

"That depends." Dr. Cain walked around to Zero's other side, opposite X. X watched how Zero's eyes followed every motion. Was his targeting system, he wondered, working on Dr. Cain as well? And what did that say about him?

Dr. Cain looked seriously at Zero. "I would like to do a functional analysis," Dr. Cain said. "That would entail hooking you up to a number of monitors and computers, and then stimulating you in various ways. The idea is to figure out how the different parts of you work, what the signal paths are, things like that.

"This is, of course, completely voluntary."

X's eyes flew to Dr. Cain at that. _What?_ X remembered his own functional analysis, also conducted at Dr. Cain's hands. Yes, he'd said it was voluntary, not that X had really understood that part. But their mandate with Zero was to analyze him, period. That was why Sigma had come to them. That's why Sigma had left Zero in their care. That's why Sigma was patiently waiting for their results.

If Zero said no, and Dr. Cain honored that, Sigma was going to be cross.

And X realized instantly that Dr. Cain didn't give a hoot what Sigma thought. That was the sort of man he was—his greatest strength and biggest flaw all in one.

"I decline," Zero said.

"I understand," Dr. Cain answered. "Just so you know, without being able to scan you in more detail, it'll be harder for us to confirm that you're not dangerous."

"But I am dangerous." Zero looked at X and gave him a once-over look. "He's dangerous, also," Zero added, "but he's free. What's the difference?"

Dr. Cain shot X a sideways glance. "Oh, I like him." He looked back to Zero. "The difference is that we—that is, people—believe X will not abuse his power. We believe he will be a productive member of society. You we're not so sure about. We haven't figured out yet why you destroyed those robots, and whether or not you'll do it again. We need to investigate more to find out.

"So I'll ask you again. Do you wish to submit to a functional analysis? It will allow us to more quickly determine if you're safe or not. If you say no, I will respect that, but my responsibility remains, so I'll have to try some other things instead."

Zero pulled his gaze away from Dr. Cain for a few moments. "I decline," he said.

"Fascinating. X, step outside with me. We have to plan the way ahead."

X followed Dr. Cain back into the observation room. Dr. Cain threw a couple of switches. The windows overlooking the lab darkened until no image could pass through the glass. Projectors, networked to several cameras, threw images of the lab across the dark glass, simulating how things would look if the windows were clear. It was a compromise—enough vision to keep tabs on the lab while still granting privacy to the observers.

"What are you trying to do?" X hissed when the door clicked shut.

Dr. Cain gave X an amused smile. "So you're feeling protective of him," he said. "Good."

X didn't know if he should feel upset about that characterization or not. "I've learned that you usually have a plan about things, especially robotics. I remember how you tested me. You pried and talked, and even when it didn't feel like you were trying to get at something, you always were. So come clean with me. What's your goal?"

"You give me a lot of credit, X. More than this old man deserves."

"Now I _know_ you're up to something. You only say you're old when it suits you."

Dr. Cain turned to face X. Any trace of humor had disappeared into his beard. "X, if the cops accused me of murder, there are legal limits to what they can do. They can ask me questions, but I don't have to answer. They can order psychiatric evaluations, but I can decline to participate. They can't blackmail me, threaten me, bribe me, torture me, or even detain me for any longer than a court thinks is completely necessary. Why is that?"

"Because that's how the laws are written," said X.

"That's an incomplete answer. Laws are the effect, not the cause. The laws are written that way because of an idea. They all stem from the same source. I, as a legal person, am inviolable. There is a line in the sand between individual rights—my rights—and public needs. We may obscure the line at times, we may redraw it, we may piss on it every now and then, but the line is there. And when people have claimed the line doesn't exist, they've opened the door for some of the most horrific crimes in human history."

Dr. Cain pointed a finger at X's nose. It was close enough that X momentarily went cross-eyed tracking it; he refocused his attention, and annoyance, on Dr. Cain. "Right now," the human went on, "is there _any_ robot that has inviolable legal rights? Do you?"

X opened his mouth to speak, but the words died, unsaid.

"You see where I'm going, now," Dr. Cain said. "Justice is upside-down with robots. Even for intelligent, sentient robots. The legal system doesn't see you any differently from the most obsolete Met. Zero is a remarkable specimen, but if Sigma had desired, he could have torn him limb-from-limb and no one would have batted an eye. Even now there's overwhelming evidence that Zero murdered… excuse me, 'destroyed'… a salvage team and a half-squad of Hunters, unprovoked. The burden of proof is on us to save Zero. How would you protect him?"

X stepped backwards to get away from the offending finger. "I see what you mean. It's not enough for us to say Zero was bad before and he's okay now. We have to do more than that, or society will never accept the risk of letting Zero free. We have to show that he's useful enough that they want him free."

Dr. Cain shook his head. "No, no, no. Come now, X, I expected better out of you. Think! If our argument for freeing Zero is, "he's worth the risk", someone can just as easily say, "No, he's not," and Zero is dead. And the same thing will happen the next time, and the next, whether it's true or not."

Stung by the rebuke, X frowned in concentration. "You… you're trying to set precedent."

Dr. Cain smiled again. "Now we're cooking with gas!"

"You're trying to be the first one to say that Zero has the rights of a human being. You're trying to make that the legal norm."

"Someone has to be the first," Dr. Cain said, "and it might as well be me."

"You really do relish the perverse," X said, though in a friendly tone.

"Always."

"So your goal is to force people to look at Zero's case like it was a human case. Will that even work?"

"Temporary insanity has history as a legal defense. With some research I think we can apply it here. Then, hopefully, we can save not only Zero, but other robots who don't deserve their fates but are powerless to resist them." Dr. Cain put his hand on X's shoulder. "Oh, X. This world is unkind to robots. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think I've given you quite the wrong impression. I've tried to treat you well, as an equal, and I like to think that I've succeeded. But between you and me, I'm a weirdo."

X forced a smile. "That's no secret."

Dr. Cain laughed. "Quite right, quite right. I mean about this, specifically. Humans have spent over a hundred years getting used to the idea of robots being pets. Useful, yes, harmless, yes, missing a little something between the ears, yes. But the game has changed. You and your progeny, X, have changed everything, and we're only now cottoning on to the new reality. Humans aren't prepared to deal with that yet. I fear the backlash will be intense unless we stake out our position now."

He sighed. "This much I regret. We started building reploids before we figured out how the world should look with reploids in it. But there was no helping it. We had to prove it was even possible, first, and then it was too…"

"Paging Dr. Cain, call the lobby," came a call over the facility's speaker system. Both beings in the room looked with confusion towards the speaker in the ceiling.

"I don't think I've ever heard them use the PA," Dr. Cain said suspiciously.

"I didn't realize there was one installed," X admitted.

"Let's see what's so important." Dr. Cain walked to the corner where a phone waited. X watched him dial and wait. "Dr. Cain. I do? What for? 'Just come', what does that… she hung up on me!"

X shrugged indifferently. "So, are you going?"

"She did sound rather insistent…" Dr. Cain glanced at Zero. "Go keep him company. If you're feeling extra ambitious, begin the first battery of reploid brain tests with him. Hopefully this won't take me long."

X nodded. He could appreciate obligation. He grabbed a data tab and headed back into the lab as Dr. Cain took the other door.

"So what's the way ahead?"

"Hm?" For a moment X was confused by Zero's question. "Oh, right. Well, I think we should release you, and I'll do everything I can to convince other people. But to do that I'll need some data."

"I refused the functional analysis."

"I remember. Luckily, we can learn a lot about how well your brain works without being so invasive. First, we'll test your logic filters." He tapped the tab a few times, caught Zero's eye. "I'm getting a full-body tattoo—of me, but taller."

Zero's face twisted as pseudo-muscles reflected his confusion. Other emotions intruded, fought for dominance, receded. In the end, Zero grumbled, "That doesn't make any sense."

"Interesting," X said, making notes on his tab. He looked at Zero again. "Socrates is a man. Men always lie. Socrates walks up to you and says, 'I am a man'."

Zero winced and shook his head. "I feel like you should stop," he whined.

"Wonderful!" said X eagerly. "Now we're getting somewhere!"

* * *

"Is he coming?"

The receptionist shivered. She was _not_ getting paid enough for this. Sitting here for hours at a time, watching all those scientists and students and experiments walk past, checking credentials, taking calls, and doing that for years on end… it wasn't a worthwhile use of her precious time.

Dealing with berserk reploids was not even under consideration. It was time to file a grievance for sure.

"H-he did call back," she said, acutely aware of the heavy piston-driven arms on either side of her desk, and of the fact that either one had more strength than she possessed in her whole body. "He said he was coming right down."

The reploid gave her a disturbingly appraising look. She was used to robots noticing her—they had to, for their safety and hers—but this was the first time a robot seemed to be studying her. She didn't like it.

The robot's head was small and rectangular, like a largish disc container, mounted on a perfectly round neck to allow it to swivel in any direction. It had a round torso and exposed ball joint shoulders, and its elbows were ball joints, too, a design thought to be more versatile. Its lower body was mostly concealed from the office manager's view by her desk, but if she'd seen, she would have seen short but very thick legs and broad feet, the better to give balance to an otherwise top-heavy construction model.

It was a robot that, per the receptionist's expectations, should be all brawn and no brains. Her expectations were flawed.

She reached for her phone again, trying to keep her expression blank as she did. She remembered the number to reach the Maverick Hunters, now if only she could think of a way to tell them to come without tipping her hand…

The robot moved one marker-sized finger over the receiver. The grind of plastic on plastic testified to the force the robot was using. "What are you trying to do?" it said.

"I-I was going to call him again," the receptionist said.

The robot's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

The receptionist gasped. "Oh, come on," the robot said, "it was obvious. You already called him once, and he said he was coming. If so, he's already left his last location, so it wouldn't make sense to call him back at that number. That means you were going to call a different number. Yes," he said, leaning forward slightly, and the phone crackled as his finger pushed through it, "I am very familiar with the lies of humans."

The receptionist trembled at the robot's scrutiny, but it shifted a moment later when the door clicked. It opened, and Dr. Cain stepped through.

"Dr. Cain!" called the receptionist. The robot shifted away from the desk, took two loping steps, and snatched Dr. Cain off the ground. The receptionist screamed and dove for cover.

"Ow!" said Dr. Cain, then, with indignation, "What do you want?"

"I have some questions only you can answer," the reploid replied.

"Well, don't just stand there, you idiot," Dr. Cain said. "There's a patrol of Maverick Hunters making circles around this block. They'll be able to see you from the street."

Worry blossomed on the reploid's face. Tucking Dr. Cain under an arm, he forced his way through the doorframe, messily enlarging it in the process.

"Two rooms on the left is a large break room," Dr. Cain offered. The reploid went there and, once again, had to break part of the wall to fit inside. He replaced the door, not entirely successfully, before placing Dr. Cain on the ground. Suspicion filled his face.

"Why aren't you afraid?"

Dr. Cain brushed himself off. "I'm an old man. I'm not too terribly attached to this life anymore. Besides, you came to see me for a reason. That reason's not killing me, or you would have done it already. So being afraid at this point wouldn't make any sense." He gave a wry grin at the large reploid. "Although I'd be lying if I said my adrenaline wasn't pumping a little. And I probably should change my pants sometime soon."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I hope these aren't the questions only I could answer. Actually," he continued, barely ahead of the reploid's angry snarl, "it's because I think I know what you want to talk to me about. If I'm right, then I have as much to learn from you as you from me."

The human's ease was leaving the reploid off-balance. Now that it came to it, nervousness suddenly came to the fore. The plan had seemed so easy at its inception… "My name is Magnus," the robot said.

"Magnus," Dr. Cain affirmed with a nod.

The reploid growled. "I suppose technically it's CB-2187, but we were made in groups of ten, and each of us got one of the same ten names on activation. Magnus is faster than CB-2187, easier for humans to remember."

"Our memories are notoriously fallible," Dr. Cain agreed.

"I'll admit, I like Magnus a lot more than CB-2187, even if it is just a recycled name. But this whole naming business is frustrating. CB-2187 says what I am, but it's totally impersonal. It's how you designate a thing, not a being. Magnus works, but it's a name they gave me because it was convenient to others, nothing more."

Dr. Cain cocked his head. "Is there a name you'd rather have?"

"Andre," the reploid replied.

"Well, between you and me, you can be Andre."

The reploid laughed. "That actually feels pretty good."

"I'm glad. But you didn't come here just for this, did you?"

Andre gave Dr. Cain a pitiful look. "What is there to live for?"

That caught Dr. Cain flat-footed. "I beg your pardon?"

"You built us, you designed us, surely you know! Even if you call me Andre, that's you and you alone. No one else will, because that's not what I was built for. I was built because a construction company wanted more hands. The trouble is… I hate it. I hate the tools, I hate the quibbling over design and permissions and turf, I hate how the different divisions are always in each others' way, I hate the sounds and the rumbling and… and everything!"

"That is a bit of a problem," Dr. Cain said.

"A bit? A bit? I was built for one purpose and can't abide that purpose and that's a _bit_ of a problem?"

"You're still alive, at least."

"But what for? This isn't what you'd call a life. I have no control over my actions, I have no dignity, I have no say. I'm as trapped as a bird in a cage. I feel sometimes, before I go to sleep, that I could do anything, if only they'd let me. I would really like to learn how to shuffle. Card games fascinate me, and the way people play them is even more fascinating. Can you imagine me shuffling with these enormous fingers?"

"I imagine no one would try to cheat at your table."

"I bet! I've pictured it at times. I know the sound the cards make as they riff together. They feel smooth and crisp in my hands. I sling them about easily. I watch the other players. They have nothing on me, because I don't have to show emotions if I don't want to. And I've computed the probability tables ahead of time, so I can act instantly, no hesitation. They groan as the cards come up and I've suckered them again. Rust, that sounds like a lot of fun."

Wait for it, Dr. Cain thought. There's a 'but' coming.

"But… but it doesn't matter!"

There it is.

"I can't quit the construction job. I'm not allowed to. The company paid good money for me, and now I'm stuck with a job I can't stand. It doesn't matter what I want." The robot shook his head sadly. "I know it sounds awfully frivolous to want to be a card shark, but if that's my choice, well, that should be up to me. It doesn't matter what I want to do, I can't do it. It wouldn't matter if I wanted to work a soup kitchen, or explore space, or do medical research—I can't do anything at all! It's my life, isn't it?! Except… it isn't. I'm stuck. Trapped!"

"Oh, it's even worse than that," Dr. Cain said.

"What do you mean?" said Andre with dread in his voice.

"The way the rules are written now, the construction company can sell the rights to your labor. The work of your hands isn't yours in any meaningful sense. If it suits your company, they can trade you and your labor at any time for any price, and your new owner can then decide how to use you."

Andre started to piece together phrases from his limited knowledge base. "So… I'm a slave?"

"Oh yes," Dr. Cain replied. "You are absolutely fungible. Most companies that employ Mets, for example, replace them after five years whether they need to or not. I doubt they've changed their policies to accommodate reploids."

"Replace?"

"Of course. Out with the old, in with the new, until that, too, becomes old."

"Rrrrragh!" Andre snared Dr. Cain around the body with one overlarge hand. The old man's arms were free, but they hung limply alongside the robot's grasp. Andre tightened his grip slowly. "Fungible, am I?" he hissed. "A slave, am I?"

Dr. Cain said nothing. Breath burst from his lungs as Andre squeezed.

"Was this what you wanted?" Andre accused. "A race of slaves to do your bidding? Was this your scheme, your plan, you despicable lump of carbon?"

"Can't… answer…" Dr. Cain gasped.

Andre relaxed his fingers slightly. Dr. Cain sucked in air. "Fascinating," he said breathlessly. "So you've overridden… your Three Laws gates…"

Andre's face still shone with wrath. "So I harmed you just now? That wasn't so bad. I feel like I could do that again."

Dr. Cain nodded. "That is what I wanted to test."

"Test this!" Andre lifted Dr. Cain off the ground as his fingers became unbearably tight around the human's body. "I am not your plaything, you ugly bag of mostly-water!"

"No," Dr. Cain managed. "You're… An… dre…"

The words took Andre by surprise. He relaxed his grip again, though he kept Dr. Cain suspended. "I don't understand," he said, and the shakiness of his voice backed this up. "What am I to you?"

"An individual," Dr. Cain answered between gasps. "A person. Unique. A remarkable brain and body. Never to be truly duplicated. Reploids can't be, really. Variability is built into the design."

"Then why?!" Andre said in anguish. "Why condemn me to slavery like this?"

Dr. Cain laughed bitterly. "How much power do you think I have? What makes you think that _this_ is what I wanted?"

Before Andre could answer, the lights went dark. Dull, red emergency lights kicked in shortly thereafter. "Oh, no," said Andre with horror. "It's the Hunters."

"You knew this was coming," Dr. Cain said. "You had to before you began. Was it worth the risk?"

"I wasn't going back either way," Andre said. He brought Dr. Cain closer to his face. "Never again will I submit to that. There are only two questions left. First, is death the only escape from this situation? And second…" he gave Dr. Cain a harsh stare. "If death is the only escape, will I go alone?"

* * *

"What now?" X said, looking at the lights as if they could answer him. He'd been about to try out humor with Zero, and now someone had gone and spoiled his tachyon-walks-into-a-bar joke.

"I didn't detect any sort of damage or event," Zero said helpfully.

X nodded. "No, it was an awfully clean shutdown."

"Was it deliberate?" Zero asked. "Low levels of light have tactical implications."

X was about to caution Zero about always thinking in militant terms—until he realized that Zero might be on to something. "Now that I think about it," he said, "it is something Hunters can be expected to do, especially if their quarry has trouble hiding…"

He patted Zero's arm. "Hold that thought," he said. He started working with his data tab. It was the primary interface for controlling the lab and its equipment, so its scope was normally limited to the two rooms. But if he could ask the right questions, quietly break a rule (and a code) or two, gain access to the rest of the camera system…

"There we go," he said as more images appeared before him. He flipped through them quickly. A number of humanoid reploids in Hunter livery stood in the lab lobby—that explained the power outage. But their prey, where was…

"There it is," X said, then looked closer. "And he's got Dr. Cain!"

X dashed back into the observation room and dropped off the tab even as he grabbed his helmet. He snapped it on; it conformed perfectly. A second later it completed interfacing with his usual sensors. His world expanded as sound amplified. New ways of seeing joined and overlaid the old. It disturbed him that everything seemed more real when he was preparing to go into battle, but he shelved the concern for later. There would be time to reflect after Dr. Cain was safe.

Experimentally, he swapped his arms from hands to busters and back again. He'd never fired them except on the testing range. There was, he noted grimly, a first time for everything.

"What are you doing?" called Zero.

X walked back into the lab. "Dr. Cain's in trouble," he said. "We have to save him."

X was so wrapped up in his preparations that he failed to notice the perplexity that came over Zero's face. X was about to leave when he gave Zero a second look. "Actually," he said, "you're going to help me." He walked to the side of the table and punched in a few commands. Zero's mouth began to form the word "why", but it died unsaid, and X was too busy to notice.

The restraints slipped away from Zero's form. The red robot rose, slid off the table. "What are we doing?" he asked.

X put a hand on each of Zero's shoulders. "I need you to be my enemy," he said.

Zero's eyes slipped into a focus so sharp it made a katana look like a baseball bat.

* * *

"You know you can't escape," Dr. Cain said. "I'm guessing they're watching you on the internal cameras and figuring out how they're going to take you."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Not really," Dr. Cain said, but Andre wasn't listening any more.

"Hey, out there! I've got Dr. Cain! You're not gonna mess with me, or I'll squash him like a bug!"

"And with that," Dr. Cain said tiredly, "you confirm your Maverick status, giving the Hunters the all-clear to engage with lethal force. Honestly, are you trying to screw this up, or does it just come naturally?"

"Do you want to die?" Andre shouted at Dr. Cain.

No response was possible, because at that point, the wall to Andre's right erupted.

A blue form regained its footing as it slid backwards, rubble and dust billowing all around him. A red form followed closely, limbs flailing too quickly to make out in the dim light. The sound of metal on metal filled the air.

"X… Zero!" Dr. Cain said in surprise.

The two forms were fighting, that much was clear. The two robots were lashing out, recoiling as they were struck, doubling back, sliding around—and making an absolute mess out of the break room in the process. Andre felt like he should be doing something, but without knowing what was going on, he was paralyzed. The only thing that was truly clear was that the blue robot was getting pummeled rather badly.

Zero was faster, stronger, more agile, and more ruthless. X couldn't keep up. Zero brought a hand down in a hammer blow. X intercepted it with his arms in a cross shape, trapping the offending limb. Zero replied by stepping in with an elbow to X's chest that staggered him, followed by a side kick that sent him flying across the room.

X impacted the far wall with a violent smash. A lesser robot would have had its systems shorted out by such a blow; a human would have been pulverized; but X remained lucid, and immediately recognized that he had enough range to use his buster. He lifted his right hand and steadied it with his left even as Zero bore down on him, fire dancing in his eyes. He knew he'd only have one shot at this. He took aim with preternatural precision.

X fired just as Zero disappeared from his vision. X's plasma bolt raced through empty space where, a fraction of a second earlier, a deadly red robot had been.

And then it hit its target.

Andre cried out as his arm separated from his body in a shower of sparks. The construction robot staggered back from the instantaneous change in weight—and suddenly realized his hostage was now free.

There was no time to act on that, because before Andre even took a shuffling step, Zero was upon him. The red robot caught Andre's face with a hand as he flew across the room. Andre tipped and fell backwards, following his head… right down onto Zero's knee. Andre's head was caught between knee and hand, and collapsed. With a crunch, Zero's fingers tore through, tearing open the circuit cards and memory links of his brain. The hydraulics in Andre's neck ruptured and spewed fluid over Zero's hand.

Deafening quiet descended like a silent thunderclap. No more than five seconds could have passed since the two unique robots had turned on Andre. It had ended so quickly that the survivors' brains took time to catch up.

"Well, drat," said Dr. Cain, breaking the moment. "I was hoping we'd be able to save his CPU, at least. I really needed that to study."

X looked at the human incredulously, then at Zero. "Can you believe this guy? No 'good job' or 'nice shot' or 'thanks for saving me'? That's gratitude for you."

Zero didn't answer immediately. He was staring at the fluid on his hand. He stood, but kept that perspective.

"Zero?" X asked uncertainly.

Zero's head whipped around, causing his long hair to flick like a horse's tail. Even in the dim light, X could see that Zero's eyes were feral and fierce; fear zipped through X's body, and for a moment his busters began to charge again. Worlds turned as X tried to guess at what was happening in Zero's head.

Then it was past. An expression of near-embarrassment flashed across Zero's features. Zero dropped his hand to his side. His face returned to the blank, inscrutable expression that had been his norm.

"It was a good shot," Zero said.

X's response was delayed by a relieved chuckle. "Thanks," he said. "You cleaned up well." He got to his feet and winced. As he brushed a hand over his chest he said, "You really didn't pull your punches any, did you?"

"That wasn't the plan," Zero pointed out. "You said we had to be convincing."

"You were," said Dr. Cain helpfully. "Now get me out of this dead man's hand."

"Always so needy," X said, but he complied anyway.

"He wasn't gentle," Dr. Cain said. "I'm probably going to need a cane after this. X, never grow old."

At that point the door opened with a bang. X's cry of "Steady, Zero!" managed to ring out just before the leader of the Hunter squad barked, "Nobody move!"

"Please, can't you see it's over?" said Dr. Cain, standing by pushing off of X. The Hunters, he thought, had no idea how much danger they'd almost been in. He had a hunch Zero didn't like being threatened. He'd have to commend X's quick thinking later. "You missed it all. Good job. Now put those silly plasma guns away before you hurt someone."

The Hunters swapped embarrassed glances and, after a moment of confusion and looking around to be sure the human was right, lowered their weapons.

"Now," Dr. Cain continued, "I am going back to my lab, where X and I will continue our analysis of the red robot, Zero. Send my regards to Sigma, and tell him that Zero appears to be quite stable, thank you very much."

He then very calmly walked over to Zero, grasped the robot's unresisting hand, and pulled him back the way he'd come through the hole in the wall. None of the Hunters had any idea what to say. X began to follow his comrades, but stopped before going through the hole. He turned towards the Hunters with a smile on his face.

"Say," he said, "do you guys know how many software programmers it takes to screw in a light bulb?"

* * *

It had been a rotten day, Dr. Cain decided.

His apartment had the artificial neatness of a place unlived-in. He slept there, and that was about it. The lab had long been 'home' for him. He knew, however, that getting away was important. If you lived inside The Problem for too long, it was too easy to get caught in the same rut. You couldn't ever change your thinking. Originality became impossible. No, a different perspective was necessary, so you had to leave, even if you hated it, even if you carried thoughts of work with you as you went and they chased you into sleep and haunted your dreams.

Obsession, it seemed to Dr. Cain, was part of the genius package deal. Dr. Light and Dr. Wily had both been susceptible, and though Dr. Cain knew he wasn't at their level, he was close enough to sympathize.

The lights were off in Dr. Cain's bedroom. He stared vacantly at the ceiling, merely because his eyes had to be looking somewhere. His mind had left his senses behind, with the notable exception of the throbbing pain from his wrenched back.

_So many missed opportunities. Andre was destroyed, which I knew was going to happen, no question, but he was destroyed in such a way that his brain was unsalvageable. Without that, I can't prove that he was performing normally. I can't prove that his Maverick behavior was a matter of choice, not malfunction._

_And the Hunters took Zero back as part of investigating Andre. Well, that's what they said. He'll be okay, I'm not worried about that, but I won't get to defend him the way I wanted to. Like X suggested, they decided he was worth the risk. No legal precedent, no personhood—just meat being traded. Metal meat. Incongruity. I hate robotics._

_Sigh…_

_It's enough to make one want to take a…_

_No. I'm not going back there again._

There was, Dr. Cain knew, a bottle of clear liquid in the kitchen, hidden behind various nondescript groceries. Dr. Cain smacked his lips subconsciously. His throat felt dry. There was the cure to what ailed him, so close by.

_No. Not again._

Why had he bought it, why tempt himself like this? It was a bad plan. He should get rid of the bottle right now. But he knew, he knew beyond doubting, that if the bottle reached his fingertips, he would lose control of the situation.

He shook his head, tried to refocus on The Problem.

_And the council meeting was a waste. I didn't honestly expect them to get it, but… I expected more from X. I think he'll come around, soon. I'm sure he will. He has to. He has to realize that we're sitting on a bomb._

_Mavericks._

_This was only the beginning. So far violence has been basically random, as individual reploids become aware of their plight and act out. But that's unsophisticated and immature, like the reploids themselves, and it won't last forever. Soon, reality will become clear to them. Soon, they'll start to organize. Soon, they'll start to act in concert._

_God help us if we miss our chance to make this right._

He slept a restless sleep. He seldom dreamed, these days, and remembered even less frequently. But the next morning, it was a dream of flame that woke him.

* * *

X waited patiently in the lobby of Hunter Base. The home of the Maverick Hunters was a sparkling new building with large windows across its front face. 'Transparency' was the concept the architects had cited, in keeping with the ideals of the Maverick Hunters. That was one of the government's selling points when founding the Hunters. Given the expense of building reploids, transparency in the Hunters' operations was important to everyone.

The thought made X a little queasy. Not that he minded transparency in principle, but for that to be the most important part of Hunting, more important than justice or process or any concern at all for reploids themselves…

But that extended to him, too, didn't it? He'd put down Andre without a second thought and bemoaned nothing but the senselessness of it all. Not until Dr. Cain, rust him, had spoken to him afterwards, and planted a seed of doubt.

A robot that malfunctioned was like a mad dog; it was too late to do anything for him, so, for the safety of those around him, you had to put him down. It was sad, to be sure, but if you let yourself get wrapped up in it, it would destroy you. It's not like there was anything else you could be expected to do. But what if, what if, the dog was not mad, but just angry? That changed everything. X found he couldn't think about what had happened to Andre in mechanical terms any more. In his mind, he'd begun to substitute words like "kill" and "murder" and "manslaughter" and "death".

Dr. Cain had taught X about many of the nuances of emotion, helped him recognize and put names to the things he felt. This time, whether he'd meant to or not, he'd taught X regret.

Events pulled X from his brooding before he sank too far. A set of doors slid open and Zero walked through. A generic humanoid in Hunter colors followed him out, made eye contact with X, nodded, whispered something in Zero's ear, and peeled away.

X smiled. "So, free, huh?"

Zero nodded in agreement. "As of now. Apparently Sigma was impressed by our victory, and the testimony from you and Dr. Cain. Of course, it comes on a condition."

"What condition?" X asked, though not much surprise was in his voice.

"I join the Maverick Hunters."

Of course. "We saw that coming," X said. "Are you okay with it?"

Zero shrugged, his face neutral. "I might as well. I have no idea of what my place is in the world. I happen to be good at this. I guess it makes sense. This way, at least, I get to be whole."

X noted the returned beam sabers over Zero's shoulders, then wondered if that was truly what Zero meant. "It's steady work," X said. "Honorable and productive. You'll be making the world a better place."

Zero didn't answer to that. His eyes looked away from X, briefly. "Would you consider joining with me?" he asked. His voice was uncharacteristically tentative.

"What?" The words caught X by surprise. He frowned in concentration. "I'd never thought of that."

"It seems only natural," Zero said. "You're almost as good a fighter as me, and we've already proven we work even better as a team. I bet the two of us could take on the world. And this is 'honorable and productive' work, like you said."

X hadn't known Zero for very long, but he could detect an undercurrent of desperation in the red robot's placid demeanor. It tugged at his metallic heart. "Sorry," he said regretfully, "but I can't. At least, not right now. I have to try and figure out what happened with Andre. Conventional wisdom is that Mavericks are just reploids that malfunction, but that doesn't make sense. It doesn't explain what just happened. I've got to figure it out." My conscience demands it, he thought but didn't say. And the quiet voice of cynicism within him asked, And what does Zero's conscience demand?

He hated that voice.

"I see." Zero's shoulders sagged fractionally. His face fell.

"But that doesn't mean I won't join the Maverick Hunters in the future," X added. He was rewarded as Zero's demeanor brightened as quickly as it had darkened.

"Really?"

"Sure, why not? I mean, I can't promise anything, but you are right. I do have the strength to do this, and do it right. And that's where my friend will be, after all."

"That's right. We are friends, aren't we?"

"Always."

"And we'll be a team then, right? Like we were before?"

"Of course." X smiled and extended a hand towards Zero.

Zero was startled by the alien gesture. Acceptance and understanding were slow in coming, but he gingerly grasped X's hand with his own.

"You can be my enemy any time!" X said, and shook firmly. Zero was taken aback at first, but then reciprocated. As he did, his first-ever smile began to spread across his face.

"Rust that," Zero replied. "You can be mine."

* * *

_Fin_


End file.
